


The Lady's Companion

by die_traumerei



Series: Renovations Isn't Just a Metaphor [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Disabled!Crowley, Established Relationship, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Kissing, Light Angst, Massage, Master/Servant, Medium Burn, Other, Roleplay, over-the-top dramatics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: Set in the universe of A Little Place in the Country, but can be read independently. Crowley and Aziraphale try out a little asexual kinky roleplay over a weekend, when the lady of a grand country manor retains a new servant and lady's companion. Cue falling in love, and trying to out-dramatic each other, winner makes the loser cry. Also a lot of affection, some poetry, Crowley getting to feed their service kink, and Aziraphale spending days as a literal pillow princess.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Renovations Isn't Just a Metaphor [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723783
Comments: 31
Kudos: 65





	1. She Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> Yooooooo I am so glad this is done, it genuinely ate my brain for like a good two weeks! Also it was so much fun, and I hope you love it as much as I do, especially the parts where they just devolve into fanfic writers of their own scene, and try to make the other have Feels.
> 
> You really don't have to have read A Little Place in the Country to get this, although it is set in that universe, probably roughly around chapter 15 or 16 or thereabouts. Strict timelines are not my forte, let's say. A few things that it does help to know:
> 
> \- Aziraphale is female-presenting, Crowley goes between female- and non-binary-presenting.  
> \- They've gone and bought an insane giant rambling house in the countryside, and obvs immediately installed a Roman-style heated pool/bath in the sun-room.  
> \- Crowley has on-and-off issues with their hips and back, and therefore occasionally uses mobility aids, including in this story.  
> \- They are both asexual, but there's definitely some light petting, so head's up!  
> \- Also -- warning for a history of vaguely suicidal thoughts and a little body-related-negativity on Aziraphale's part. This is a very small part of the story, but it is there. She's well-comforted and loved, and Crowley supports her and helps her support herself as well.
> 
> I'll post part two (of two) probably on Friday.

“ _It's like you're a waif out of Dickens,” Aziraphale scolded as they got changed for bed._

_Crowley grinned at her, already resplendent in their silk nightgown. It had needed only a touch of miracle to fit their flat chest perfectly. “And you're the rich old widow who's rescued me?”_

“ _Dear, if you want to role-play, we can negotiate,” Aziraphale said smoothly, buttoning up her pyjamas. They were new, fresh cotton lawn, and embroidered with her monogram. She was very fond of them._

“ _Haaaawhat? Urk. How do you? Know?_ _What have the children been teaching you_ _?” Crowley finally sputtered._

“ _Crowley._ _You'd think I was a nun, the way you carry on,” Aziraphale said as she crawled under the quilt and gathered Crowley close._

_[...]_

_Crowley grinned and gave a little wriggle. “So would you like that? To be the lady of the manor, and I a destitute young, er, person, sent to you. Perhaps to be a servant.” Crowley's eyes widened, and their pulse picked up a little. “I must see to your every whim, and spoil you and keep you in perfect comfort, and in return you pull me out of cold and hunger?”_

_Aziraphale gave an involuntary shudder._

“ _Or...not,” Crowley said delicately._

“ _No! Oh, love.” Aziraphale sighed. “I'm sorry. I_ _don't_ _think I would like that very much.”_

“ _Aziraphale, it's all right,” Crowley said gently. “We don't do anything that you don't like, you know that.”_

_Aziraphale smiled, and gave a little sigh. “I know you love to spoil me, sweetheart. I just. Well, I don't like thinking of you cold and hungry, even though I know you don't really feel hunger.” She cuddled them a little closer, and wrapped one leg over Crowley's hip. “But you feel the cold. And you've been so cold before, and no one was there to warm you.”_

“ _And now I've got my angel, always. And blankets and fireplaces in nearly every room. And indoor heating.” Crowley hugged her back, and rubbed her soft hip. “But mostly the 'I've got you' bit.”_

_Aziraphale kissed them, just to add to the reminder. “I just...I hate to think of who you had to be, that you slept, and loved sleeping, and still had_ _that_ _bed.”_

_She was quiet a little bit, then, considering. “Darling?_ _Would_ _you like to...role-play? Like you said, where you tended to me?”_

_Now it was Crowley's turn to give a full-body shudder. “_ _Oh yes_ _,” they breathed. “If you want. Only if you want, Aziraphale, that's really really really important. But yeah.”_

“ _The only part I really didn't like was where you were cold and hungry. Even just pretending.” Aziraphale smiled shyly. “We can talk about it, all right? You spoil me plenty as it is, you know.”_

“ _Well, of course. Because you were made for it,” Crowley tried to explain. They shook their head and smiled “We can talk about it. Plan. Figure something out.” They hugged her, and Aziraphale let herself melt into Crowley's arms, wire-and-whipcord strong. They would keep her safe; Aziraphale knew that like she knew...something deeper than breathing, even._

_She snuggled up, pleased that they were ending the day on a sweet note. Even if nothing came of it, she knew a little more about Crowley now, and Crowley knew a little more about her, and that was always a good thing. And so, without meaning to, she slept._

_From Chapter 10 of A Little Place in the Country_

Azirpahale adjusted her suit once more, examining herself critically in the mirror. She was wearing her most heavily-embroidered waistcoat and stiffest collar, and of course her usual old jacket. Everything was tailored perfectly – bless Saoirse for the shopping trip and the introduction to a number of brilliant denizens of Savile Row. She tried to affect a character that was (at least initially) distant and cold, and definitely requiring a great deal of time from her new employee.

Aziraphale considered that probably she just looked a bit constipated, and sighed, and gave herself a disappointed look in the glass. This was going to be a  _fun weekend_ where she and Crowley would play mistress and servant and Crowley would get to wait on her hand and foot and soften her heart and they'd fall in love. Aziraphale had a few surprises lined up, and reckoned Crowley might have a few for her as well. It was going to be sensual and fun and very indulgent, and she  _wasn't going to bloody ruin it_ .

She sighed and fixed her cravat again, gave herself a very stern look, and went to wait in Crowley's study, where they decided Crowley would first meet her mistress.

Not ten minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door, and Crowley entered.

Oh, she was beautiful! Aziraphale had to work to school her face. Her beloved was presenting female, in a long black dress, very plain but cut perfectly to her figure. Her hair was up in long, shining red braids, and Aziraphale's fingers itched to loose them and send them sweeping down in waves around Crowley's lovely face. To complete the look, she carried a small bag, and wore dark glasses to hide her eyes. She made use of a single crutch, her hips and back still refusing to behave themselves, but they had agreed that that wouldn't stop them. Crowley got around perfectly well with a little assistance, and anyway, if they were honest with themselves, they would spend most of the weekend staring intensely at one another and then making out, and she could do that just as well with a crutch as without.

“Mistress Aziraphale?” 

“Yes. You must be Crowley.” Aziraphale sat straight-backed in the chair. “Do come in. Was it a difficult journey?”

“No, Mistress. I'm quite used to travel, Mistress.”

Every time she used the honorific, it did something deep in Aziraphale's belly. She was going to  _kill_ Crowley for coming up with the best game of all time.

“How lucky you are.” She smiled, and gestured to a nearby chair. “You may sit.”

“Yes, Mistress Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale was going to kill her  _twice_ . Especially since she'd given herself tits and she  _knew_ how Aziraphale felt about her femme body. What a dreadful creature the love of Aziraphale's life was.

Crowley sat primly, her skirts settling around her.

“Where were you before?” Aziraphale asked.

“I was born in the desert,” Crowley said. “A long way from here. I was orphaned very young, and went into service where I was born, until my employer recommended me to you.”  
Oh, bless her. No cold for her darling snake.

“I hope you will like England,” Aziraphale said. “It may be colder than you're used to.”

“I'm sure I will like it very much, Mistress.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Do you know what I hired you for?”

“Yes, Mistress. I'm to be your servant and your companion, since your husband passed away.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “The illness that took him has left me very weak. I shall need you to do everything for me, at least for some time.”

Hah, take that you gorgeous old serpent, and choke on it. Crowley actually startled, and Aziraphale, long used to reading her expressions behind dark glasses, caught her widened eyes and a little gasp that couldn't be hidden.

“...everything?” her new servant squeaked.

“Yes. Will that be a problem, Crowley?” she asked, allowing a little sharpness to enter her voice. Best to start out firm and go soft. It would destroy them both and she couldn't wait.

“No, Mistress. Not at all, Mistress.” A swallow. “Shall I make you tea?”

“Yes, I think I would like that,” Aziraphale said, settling back in her chair. “I take it with milk and a single sugar. And see if we have any bourbon creams, they're my favourite.”

“Yes Mistress,” Crowley said.

“And Crowley? You may put your bag in my bedroom. I shall need you with me at all times, and we will sleep together.”

“Right away, Mistress,” Crowley said, and retrieved her bag in her free hand. Aziraphale hid a smile at the way her hand trembled. Good, she'd _better_ be overcome by the notion of waiting on Aziraphale hand and foot.

Crowley returned some minutes later with a silver tray holding an impressive tea service – a miracle letting her hold it one-handed, or perhaps she really was that good at balancing it. She poured tea for each of them, doctored Aziraphale's, and delivered it to her with the requested biscuits.

“Thank you,” Azirphale said. “That's quite acceptable.” The tea was delicious, of course, but best to ramp these things up. Crowley loved praise, but one had to be gentle about it, lest she be overwhelmed. 

“Thank you, Mistress,” Crowley said, and bowed her head. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Not at the moment, Crowley, thank you.” She truly did enjoy her tea, and the second cup she asked Crowley to pour for her. 

“Have you been a lady's companion before?” Aziraphale asked.

“Not exactly, Mistress. I was a servant, and a nanny, but I've never been considered good enough to be a companion.”

Oh  _fuck her_ . Aziraphale was going to have to come up with some really good revenge.

“I entirely disagree,” she said sharply. “I would not have hired you, if I didn't think you good enough, Crowley. Please remember that.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Crowley whispered, ducking her head. “I will meet your standard.”

Aziraphale let the tiniest bit of gentleness enter her voice. “I know you will, Crowley. I did not bring you here to do anything but succeed.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.” Crowley looked up at her. “I think I will like it here.”

“I hope you do.” That was enough gentleness for the moment. Aziraphale settled back in her chair, trying to look very regal and scary and, well, Mistress-y. “When you are done with your tea, you may take everything away, and go prepare a bath for us in the conservatory. I would like the water scented with roses, and you may open a bottle of champagne for us. You will need to come fetch me, then, and undress me, and join me in the bath. After that, you will dress me again and help me to the dining room, where we will share dinner. Following dinner, you will dress me for bed, where I will read and you may sleep or not as you wish, but you must be beside me at all times. These are duties you will carry out for me every evening, unless I tell you otherwise. I am quite helpless, you see, and will need your assistance in nearly everything I do.”

Oh, Crowley, darling. You go so soft, when you can care for me. Love, love, I will make this so sweet for you, my dearest demon.

It took three tries, but finally Crowley swallowed and managed a 'yes, Mistress'.

Aziraphale nodded and set her tea aside, a little impressed with how quickly Crowley hefted the tray up in one arm, and left the room to carry out her assigned duties. To be fair, the ailing, helpless mistress was about the best card she had to play, but she thought it would go a long way.

She read a little, because, well, one had to pass the time  _somehow_ and Crowley had a lovely gardening book right there on her desk. She looked up upon hearing Crowley's distinctive gait, though, and remembered just in time to not smile when she came into the room.

“Your bath is ready, Mistress Aziraphale,” Crowley said.

“Our bath,” Aziraphale told her. “I will need you to be in there with me.” Oh, here was a place for a good knife to the heart. A softer tone, as Crowley came closer. “Crowley. It seems you were not fully informed of your duties. I require a great deal of care – will it be too much for you? It's no shame if it is.”

Crowley stumbled, and caught herself just in time. “No,” she said in a firm voice that brooked no argument, a voice quite unlike the one she had been using so far. “It is not a hardship at all to care for you, and do for you, and help you complete even the smallest task.” A beat, almost defiant. “Mistress.”

Well she wasn't made of  _stone,_ and anyway Crowley's words warmed something in her heart. She was never too much for her darling, never ever. “Good. I think I will quite enjoy having a companion.” 

Crowley came close and Aziraphale shifted, dropping out of character. “Yellow for a moment. How much can I lean on you, love?”

Crowley made a face. “Honestly? Not much, angel. I'm holding myself up pretty well, but I don't think I could manage both of us.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Got it. Mistress Aziraphale just got quite a bit stronger.”

Crowley smiled. “Not too much, I hope.”

“Not too much,” Aziraphale promised. “Right. Er. Yellow over?” Good grief, was anyone a bigger dip than she was? But Crowley fell right back into her impersonal character, and thus so did Aziraphale.

Aziraphale rose and rested a hand gently on Crowley's shoulder, letting her 'support' her mistress and lead the way to the conservatory. Crowley was all right on stairs, especially with just the one crutch, but Aziraphale made a mental note to try to stay on a single level, or at least limit the amount of running up and down her sweetheart would have to do. Her disability, such as it was, was a part of their lives for the foreseeable future, and they were still finding how best to play and work and do everything while accounting for it.

Once in the conservatory, Aziraphale sank down heavily into a chair, and gazed up at her servant-companion. “I bathe in the nude,” she said. “I do hope you don't mind.”

“I always think wet spandex is dreadful, Mistress,” Crowley said quickly. She knelt and untied Aziraphale's shoes, and slipped them off of her feet, followed by her socks.

“Did it hurt?” she asked, cradling one of Aziraphale's feet in her hands. “Your...the illness that left you like this?”

“No,” Azirphale said. “Not at all. I felt very faint one day, and went to bed, and when I woke I was a rich widow who couldn't so much as feed myself. I have been gradually recovering since then, but my physician recommended someone more...intimate...than a nurse.”

Well, one couldn't very well be  _subtle_ in an asexual kinky domination roleplay. That would be just a waste of time.

“Yes, Mistress. Very wise advice, Mistress,” Crowley said. “Can you stand for me, Mistress? Thank you.” She looked up, smile playing at the corners of her mouth, and undid Aziraphale's trousers. Kneeling in front of her. 

Well, fair enough, Aziraphale reckoned.

She let Crowley undress her, remaining pliant while her coat and waistcoat, braces and shirt and trousers came off. Last, of course, were her brassiere and knickers, a simple, pretty pink cotton set.

Crowley unhooked her bra first, and slid the straps down her arms. Next were her knickers, sliding off soft as a whisper with Crowley's thumb pulling down one side, then the other, and helping her to step out of them.

“Just one moment, Mistress,” Crowley said, urging her to sit and wait. 

Aziraphale, frankly, enjoyed the show. It was easiest for Crowley to undress while sitting, and it was quite delicious to watch. She unzipped her dress and shrugged it off, letting it pool around her hips while she undid her bra, then stood and let dress and knickers fall to the ground.

Her corporation was extremely female, and Aziraphale took it in with great curiosity. Bigger breasts than she usually liked – the tease. A waist that nipped in, and lovely small hips, a little patch of carefully-trimmed hair on her mons. Crowley was, of course, incredibly beautiful.

She helped Aziraphale into the bath, and slid in beside her with a sigh that Azirpahale matched, letting the warm, perfumed water take her weight, tipping back to float a little.

“Just rest, Mistress. You'll be more comfortable over here, I think.” Crowley's hands gently steered her over to a reclining seat with a little waterproof pillow, and Aziraphale truly didn't mean to groan with joy when Crowley settled her there, it's just that it felt so _good_. Also, the champagne bottle was right there, with two full flutes. “Is that better, Mistress?”

“Very much so,” Aziraphale murmured. “You're doing very well, Crowley, very well indeed.”

The glow of pride in Crowley's voice was audible. “Thank you, Mistress. That's my only desire.”

Aziraphale opened her eyes, and rewarded Crowley with a smile, and had the great joy of seeing her blush and smile back without meaning to.

Crowley handed her a champagne flute and settled nearby, floating a little in the steaming bath while they enjoyed the evening light and the lovely drink.

“Have you ever been married?” Aziraphale asked idly. Well, they might as well explore each others' characters, it was a little bit early to start falling in love. Save that for tomorrow, at least. They could probably hold out that long?

“No, Mistress. No man would have me, Mistress.”

Aziraphale was going to kill her  _three times_ , no matter that she had never been a man  _precisely_ , she had spent six thousand years more or less presenting as male and had been  _quite_ happy to have Crowley!

“I find that hard to believe! Lovely girl like you?” she asked.

“I come from nothing, Mistress, and have spent my life in service,” Crowley explained “What kind of wife would I make? All I know how to do is serve.”

Aziraphale made a little hmph sound. “Well, perhaps you're better off. More champagne, please, my glass is nearly empty.”

“Yes, mistress.” Crowley topped them both off. “Do you miss your husband terribly, mistress?”

“Not particularly,” Aziraphale said. “He was all right. Looked a bit like you, come to think of it.”

A twitch of Crowley's lips. “Oh?”

“Mmm. Red hair. Rather a skinny old thing, too.” Aziraphale shrugged. “We hadn't been married long.”

“But long enough to inherit his estate,” Crowley said, neatly sidestepping several centuries of inheritance law. They weren't intentionally aiming to role-play in the 19th century, but aesthetically and in general tone they had...sort of wound up there. Minus the legal issues.

“Yes. I am a very rich woman.” Azirpahale considered her champagne. “I need never re-marry, and can do as I like.” She looked up through her lashes. “When I'm strong enough, anyway.”

“Yes.” Crowley swallowed. “When you will no longer need me.”

Oh  _clever snake_ . Give them a countdown to fall in love!

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said softly. “I'm sure by then, you will be very grateful to return to your desert home.”

Crowley bowed her head. “I go only where you send me, and do only what you ask of me, Mistress Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale took a long drink in lieu of telling Crowley to fuck right off.

When they had polished off the champagne and soaked and bathed to their hearts' content, Crowley helped Aziraphale from the bath, dried her off, and re-dressed her for dinner, her touch perfectly impersonal as she pulled on and buttoned and tied and such things. And of course it was quite coincidental that she stayed completely nude while serving her mistress, and only dressed quickly when Aziraphale was fully clothed from tip to toe.

Dinner was a wonderful plate of pasta primavera; miracled from one of Aziraphale's favourite restaurants, and accompanied by crusty garlic bread and a lovely, summery white wine. Crowley proved to be a charming dinner companion, seeing to her mistress' every need, sitting right beside her. They spoke of the estate, and Aziraphale's vast holdings, but mostly of what she liked to do.

“I fear I'll be rather dull,” Aziraphale confessed. “Most of the day I read. I bathe, and sit in my study, but really – it's mostly my books.”

Crowley nodded. “You're still unwell, mistress,” she said gently. “It doesn't surprise me.”

“Oh! Oh, I mean, I suppose I am.” Aziraphale smiled down at her plate. They had tiramisu for pudding. “I don't feel unwell, precisely. I simply...I can do so little for myself. You must think me the very stereotype of a fainting wife.”

“I don't, Mistress.” Crowley had eaten a few bites of her pudding, and pushed it across the table for Aziraphale. “I think you're very strong, and very wise.”

“Oh, Crowley. You hardly know me!”

“I know you survived an illness that killed your husband,” Crowley said. “I know you are a very kind mistress, who speaks gently to me, and tells me what's expected of me. I know you like to read, and you have many books. I am here to be your servant and your companion in one, until you have need of me no more, but I think you'll recover quickly. You've got the look of it.”

“I would hope anyone you worked for spoke the way I do!” Aziraphale said, seizing on the bits that weren't painfully kind and perhaps true and absolutely ignoring the 'have need of me no more' part, as that wouldn't apply to them, ever. In play _or_ in real life. “You've been here only a few hours, of course you need to learn your duties first!”

Crowley smiled at her. “Not everyone believes as you do, Mistress Aziraphale.”

“Well they _ought_ to,” Aziraphale grumped as she finished Crowley's tiramisu. 

The dishes were miraculously cleared away, and Crowley led her up to bed. It was early yet, but Aziraphale figured it gave them time to find new things to do. Also, it was a little bit longer that she had to go with Crowley's impersonal touch, and without her accustomed kisses and hugs and cuddles. She was finding that waiting was painfully delicious; it hurt to have this distance, but she knew their first kiss would more than make up for it.

“My nightgown is laid out for me. Do you have one, or do you need to borrow one?” Aziraphale asked.

“I am accustomed to sleeping nude, Mistress,” Crowley said humbly. “So perhaps I need to borrow one.”

Aziraphale breathed in and out through her nose. “It can grow cool at night. I think I have one that will fit you, though. Go to my wardrobe, and bring me the gold box that sits on the third shelf from the bottom.” She had settled on the edge of the bed, and treated herself to a good old ogle of Crowley as she crossed the room and came back, and the way her dress showed off her hips.

Aziraphale took the box when Crowley came back with it, and gestured for her to sit. She smiled to herself – she'd bought this for Crowley some time ago, and was pleased to be able to reveal it. “You've been a very good companion to me so far, so I'd like you to keep this, Crowley. A gift, to say thank you for your service.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Crowley whispered, bowing her head. “I don't think I've done very much that's special, but I am glad I please you.”

“Very much so,” Aziraphale assured her, and opened the box, pulling out the see-through nightie. It was sleeveless, made mostly of a very fine silk gauze and trimmed in lace, and would _just_ about fall to Crowley's mid-thigh. Black, of course – she knew her beloved.

Crowley's mouth dropped open. “Mistress!”

Aziraphale smiled. “Do you like it? It's not really very  _me_ you know.”

“Oh, mistress,” Crowley breathed. “It's beautiful. Are you sure?” She reached out, running her hands over the fine fabric. “Mistress, this will be like sleeping naked!”

“I _know,_ ”Aziraphale drawled. “And I'm very sure. I've been so pleased with your service thus far. Please change into it, and then you may make me ready for bed.

Crowley quickly shed her clothes, and pulled the nightgown on. It was just as see-through and beautiful and alluring on her as Aziraphale had suspected, and she couldn't stop a smile. “Now me, please. I am tired, and wish to go to bed.”

“Oh, Mistress. Let me do everything.” Crowley knelt and repeated her careful actions from the bath. If she caressed Aziraphale's feet while removing her socks, or lingered over her waist while freeing her shirt, neither of them mentioned it. She moved easily enough, using the bed to lever herself up to standing, and Aziraphale was struck by a question – did Crowley in their play reality use a crutch? They had been playing as though she didn't, as though it didn't exist, but that wasn't right, not quite. It wasn't something to be ashamed of, or something to be ignored; it was a part of their lives, and deserved acknowledgement. At least, if Crowley wanted it to be so.

“Yellow,” she said. “Love, question. Does Crowley the orphaned lady's maid need your crutch?”

“No,” Crowley said immediately, and smiled at her. “I know, I know, it's complicated and I can see you thinking too hard about symbols and thingummies. But let's go with no? For practicality's sake. _I'm_ the unremarkable one here.”

“Unremarkable my _arse_ ,” Aziraphale said.

“Speaking of. Thank you for this.” Crowley grinned and petted the wisp of fabric passing itself off as a nightgown. “It's delicious.”

“You're very welcome.” Aziraphale grinned back at her. “Right, back to play. I've got a lady to get to fall in love with me before I recover from my convenient non-specified Victorian illness.”

Crowley's snort was rather unbecoming to a lady's companion, but Aziraphale gallantly ignored it as they fell back into character, and Crowley resumed undressing her. And definitely caressing her hips as she did so, sliding Aziraphale's knickers off for the second time that day. They really  _did_ so like to feel each other up, knowing it wouldn't go beyond heavy petting. It was awfully nice, and quite the tease right now. Of course.

Aziraphale sighed again as Crowley undid the clasp of her bra, and her companion smiled kindly.

“It can get a bit sore, mistress,” she said.

“A bit,” Aziraphale acknowledged. “Crowley, please rub my shoulders, before you dress me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Crowley moved to sit behind her on the bed, her strong hands kneading Aziraphale's shoulders. She ran her thumbs over the marks the bra left behind, and Aziraphale groaned.

“Oh, Mistress. Let me ease you,” Crowley whispered. She ran her hands down Aziraphale's back, pressing at the marks on her soft skin. It felt _amazing_. Fuck, where had Crowley picked this up?

Aziraphale breathed deeply when Crowley traced the fading ridges around her sides, clever fingers massaging under her breasts next, and Aziraphale groaned at the sensations. And gasped, softly, when Crowley cupped her breasts in her hands, pressed up against her back, and took her weight.

“My poor mistress,” Crowley crooned. “It's all right now. You have me to fulfil your every whim.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale breathed. “Such a good girl you are, Crowley. The best.”

Crowley gave a full-body tremble and it took a  _considerable_ amount of self-control not to kiss her. Aziraphale began to doubt that she could fit all her revenge into this weekend. 

“Shall I dress you for bed?” Crowley asked

“I suppose you had better,” Aziraphale murmured, held in her companion's arms, that strong, hard body holding her safe from the world, and of course her slim, familiar hands still cupping Aziraphale's breasts. If they had been them, Crowley would be kissing a line down her throat, making her moan a little from the sensations. But they'd work up to that, of course. They'd bloody _better_ , anyway.

Crowley tenderly helped her to sit up again, and slipped on her nightgown, a plain old linen thing, pretty and simple. She drew back the covers on the bed, and assisted Aziraphale into lying down, plumping her pillows and tucking her in tenderly.

“Is there anything else you might want, Mistress?” she asked. “A cup of tea? A glass of water? I can bring you a small snack, anything you might desire.”

“Peace, Crowley.” Aziraphale stretched and sighed. “I am well-cared-for.” She smiled at her. “I shall want breakfast in bed tomorrow, of course. I rarely rise before noon.” A sly smile. “The nurse would massage me, from head to toe. I will need you to take on that duty every day, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded hard, eyes going wide. “Of course, Mistress Aziraphale. Every day.”

“Excellent. You'll find I need to keep a strict schedule,” Aziraphale said. “Massage at ten. Lunch at one. Bathing at four. Dinner by eight. I expect you will have no trouble meeting those times.”

“Not at all, Mistress,” Crowley said with a soft, grateful sigh.

“If that is all.” Aziraphale reached for her book.

“Mistress, I --” Crowley ducked her head, still curled up on the bed beside Aziraphale.

“Yes? Well, speak up, Crowley.” Aziraphale tried to speak imperiously, the fair but rather hard lady of the house who was growing fonder of her companion by the moment. But who also had a part to play.

Aziraphale perhaps understood this part of her character better than any other, and damn every time she had treated Crowley meanly. She'd spend the rest of her days making up for it, until Crowley hardly remembered a time she wasn't loved. And it was going to be the same for  _this_ Crowley, she realized. Giving her a life full of love. What a beautiful thing to play out, again and again.

Crowley dropped her face, unaware of Aziraphale's internal fireworks. “Forgive me, please, I should not have hidden this part of myself from you for so long. But as we are to share a bed...” She slowly pulled her dark glasses off, and looked up at Aziraphale, wide-eyed and frightened.

“Oh, Crowley.” Yellow-gold snake eyes, with black slits for pupils, not even trying for a separate iris. It had been just a few hours, but Aziraphale had _missed_ Crowley's eyes, so used to her not wearing glasses unless they were in public.

“I'm sorry, Mistress, I can--” Crowley fumbled with the glasses. “I shouldn't have --”

“Oh, Crowley, you're beautiful!” Aziraphale rested a hand over hers. “You're so beautiful. Your eyes, I mean. Please don't hide them. Unless the light is painful? Here, turn down the lamp if you need to, I don't need this much light --”

“Mistress!” Crowley stopped her reaching over to the bedside lamp. “No, no, nothing like that. I just. Well, you can imagine how most people react.” She smiled bitterly. “The mark of a demon, and all.”

“Well, most people are quite stupid. Haven't you found that?” Aziraphale rested a hand on the side of her face. “I like your eyes very much, Crowley. Please don't feel you need to hide them from me.” She smiled. “I think we will wind up having very few secrets from one another, don't you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Crowley licked her lips. “Mistress. You. You're beautiful, too.”

Aziraphale laughed and sank back against her pillows. “Will you slip a bolster under my knees? Thank you. Oh, I'm all right, I suppose. Nothing to write home about.”

“Mistress! Who told you that?! You are _beautiful,_ ” Crowley protested, mouth open in shock.

“Are you _disagreeing_ with me, Crowley?” Aziraphale challenged. “My servant?”

“Yes.” Crowley looked at her boldly. “I'm also your companion. And I won't just...just sit here and let you think you're anything less than the most beautiful woman I've ever seen!”

Aziraphale smiled. “Good. That you disagree with me. I like to know you are being truthful with me.” She laughed. “I cannot surely be the most beautiful woman, though. You've been near a looking-glass in your time.”

Crowley went bright red, and Aziraphale was pretty sure she'd suffer for this, and felt not a jot of regret.

“Mistress, don't tease me.”

“I never would,” Aziraphale told her. “Now, my dear Crowley, see to yourself if there's anything you need, but I would like you to join me in bed. I usually read for some time, but you may sleep whenever you like – I'll wake you if you I need you.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Crowley took her braids down, _far_ too quickly. She brushed out waves of red hair that fell nearly to her waist while Aziraphale shamelessly gawked from behind her book, and put it all in a single loose plait. Aziraphale's hands _ached_ to do Crowley's hair, to brush it and braid it and kiss the soft, secret place at the nape of her neck. Sadly, Crowley still had all her old skill in taking care of long hair, and it all only took a few minutes. Hair sorted out, Crowley slid in beside her, curling her slim body up, curling _towards_ her. “Sleep well, Mistress.”

“And you, dear Crowley.” Aziraphale turned back her book, feeling very cherished and very, very frustrated. They were really _quite_ good at this, she mused, before losing herself in her book for a few hours.

In the end, Aziraphale slept too, catching a few hours before dawn, and waking at the same time Crowley did. Of course, in their slumber they'd reached for one another as they usually did, and Crowley was cuddled in her arms, head pillowed on her chest.

Crowley gave a soft little sigh, and nuzzled closer. Aziraphale's arms tightened around her, and she woke with a little gasp. “Mistress Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale smiled, and let her go. “Oh yes, that does tend to happen with my companions in bed,” she said nonchalantly.

“Unh? Have you had many?” Crowley asked, pushing herself up and rubbing her eyes.

“Not really. Even my husband wouldn't spend the night with me.”

“Red,” Crowley said, and blinked, and yawned. “Right, sorry. Look, your dear departed husband can neglect you and not love you and you not love him, but only if he _doesn't look like me_. It was funny at first, but now it really hurts.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale hugged her demon tight. “I'm sorry, love. I wasn't thinking.” She cuddled Crowley for a moment, and kissed her forehead. “Right, change of story. He looked like Gabriel.”

“Well, kink as therapy _can_ be a thing...” Crowley smiled at her. “That's fine. Just. I don't. Um. I fell in love with you about ten seconds after I met you, angel. 'm a little protective of that.”

“Who is this incredibly communicative love of my life?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley laughed.

“Still waking up. Also, if I fuck up normally, that's just life. If I fuck up while we're in a kinky scenario, your children will murder me.”

“Oh, I never thought of that,” Aziraphale said, dawning fear in her voice.

“And same goes for you,” Crowley noted.

“Fuck,” Aziraphale said, and Crowley laughed and kissed her.

“So we sort of have to take care of each other,” she pointed out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Aziraphale said, and grinned. “All right, Crowley, quite seriously. Check-in time. Other than my departed husband who looked nothing like you whatsoever, is everything all right?”

“It's _perfect_ ,” Crowley moaned. “This is all my happy stuff, all at once.”

“And my tits aren't even out,” Aziraphale said wonderingly.

“Well, not _yet_.” Crowley winked. “How about you, my strict mistress?”

“Incredibly in love. Unbelievably proud of you.” Aziraphale touched her cheek. “I mean that. You're just...exquisite.”

Crowley blushed, and smiled at her. “Good. Right, time for you to get waited on.” She gently pushed Aziraphale back onto the pillows, adjusting them so she could half sit up, the very image of a lady who needed everything done for her by her companion.

“His loss,” Crowley muttered, not dropping the thread of their conversation. “I do beg your pardon, if I was forward.” She did not sound particularly sorry. In the least.

“No, Crowley, not at all.” Aziraphale stretched luxuriously. “You must have had lovers, though, and surely some spent the night?”

“No, Mistress,” Crowley said.

“What, none?” Aziraphale sat up in surprise. “But you're so lovely!”

Crowley shrugged. “Not many agree with you. I've never been so much as kissed, Mistress. Lie back, now, and rest. I'll go get your breakfast, and then I believe it will be time for your massage”

Aziraphale licked her lips. “Yes, quite right.”  _Never been kissed_ . Oh, Aziraphale was going to kiss her  _so much_ , the little minx. Setting herself up as the perfect caregiver, and acting like no one had ever loved her. What a dreadful, wonderful creature her demon was.

Crowley dressed herself in another plain black dress, quickly did her hair, retrieved her crutch, and stepped out of the room to assemble a miracled breakfast. Left to her own devices, Aziraphale contemplated some real emotional warfare, getting out of bed for something and falling and being found helpless on the ground, but dismissed it. Crowley was moving a little stiffly, and she didn't like making her kneel at times like these. Also, it was a little too close to the time she'd fallen from the ladder, and she'd already accidentally caused real hurt once today. So she would stay in bed, imperious and helpless, and wait for her companion to return.

Crowley and her miraculously-balanced tray made their reappearance, and Aziraphale gave a genuine gasp of pleasure. Kedgeree! And ham, and grilled mushrooms and tomatoes and a stack of toast, dripping with golden butter, and of course a carafe of hot, rich coffee.  
“I thought you would like this, Mistress,” Crowley said, glowing a bit at Aziraphale's delight.

“You've guessed all of my favourites! Crowley, how wonderful you are!” Aziraphale pushed herself up to sit properly, and was all but actually clucked at. The tray was set down safely out of the way, and Crowley fussed, sitting her up against thick pillows and drawing the blankets about her waist.

“Now, mistress, you must clear at least a plate,” Crowley said. “You need plenty of food to help you get better.” She filled a plate generously and set it on a smaller tray with a cup of coffee doctored with plenty of cream – and a single pink rosebud that Aziraphale _knew_ was from their garden.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, how beautiful.” She lifted the rose and smiled at it, turning and fixing it in Crowley's hair. “There. You've given me a beautiful breakfast, now I can give you something to remind you of how pleased I am with you.”

“Mistress!” Crowley couldn't move for a moment, she was so overwhelmed, but she remembered herself in time to make a small plate for herself, a little something to nibble on while Aziraphale lingered over breakfast, praising every dish. She polished off two platefuls, and was a bit glad she'd already set the rule that she wouldn't rise before noon. A food coma was just the thing at the moment.

Crowley cleared everything away with a snap, and rose again to fetch something from Aziraphale's vanity. “Shall I undress you, Mistress?”

“Yes, Crowley. I still need you to do that for me,” Aziraphale said. She was pliant, but didn't help Crowley any as her companion slipped off her nightgown and settled her on the bed, the covers drawn back and her naked body lying on the sheets, just a thin pillow under her head. 

Aziraphale turned her head and watched as Crowley settled next to her and poured a little oil in her hands, warming her palms and starting by pressing down on Aziraphale's shoulders, easing her chest open, soothing muscles that sometimes grew tight as she read.

Aziraphale sighed happily, and gave herself over to the ministrations. Crowley was a talented masseuse, and she really was being worked over, head to toe, and never mind that she groaned when Crowley massaged her thick thighs.

“Am I hurting you, Mistress?” Crowley asked, looking up for a moment.

“No,” Aziraphale breathed. “Oh, that feels _wonderful_.”

“I am glad to hear it, Mistress,” Crowley said, returning to her work. She avoided Aziraphale's breasts and her sex, but essentially every other inch of her was rubbed down, stretched, popped, or otherwise eased. Aziraphale really _couldn't_ help when Crowley flipped her over; she was completely limp with bliss.

It all ended with a scalp massage, Crowley's strong fingers scritching through her hair, and leaving Aziraphale boneless and stupid with joy.

“There, Mistress,” she said softly. “Rest. I'll be right here, should you need anything.”

“Nnnnnn,” Aziraphale managed. She felt Crowley tuck her in under a light sheet. And, oh, the tender thing – brush a stray curl off of her brow. She ought to smile, or react, or do what she really wanted which was to pull Crowley into her arms, but she was too busy floating in a sea of corporeal bliss.

It was a good half hour later when she was awake and aware enough to reach out, and of course Crowley was right there, hand twining with hers.

“Help me sit up and give me some water,” she requested, and slender arms came around her, hoisted her up against some pillows, and Crowley produced a glass of water.

Aziraphale sank back against the pillows, and smiled at her when she was settled. “Thank you, Crowley, that was very well done.”

Crowley smiled shyly. “I can always do better. But thank you, Mistress. Do you need anything else?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No. Sit with me a little, please. It gets so dull here, being alone.” She sighed, and looked to the side. “Even when my husband was alive, he was...I think he was not well pleased with me. He mostly ignored me.”

Crowley made an angry noise.

“I'm not very much fun, in his defense,” Aziraphale said softly, watching the world outside of the bedroom windows. There was a beautiful garden, and a whole vast estate, and she could hardly go more than a few feet before needing to sit and rest. She had come so close to death, and wondered, sometimes, why she was still here...

“I hardly believe that, Mistress,” Crowley said indignantly.

“Oh, but I am. You're going to be terribly bored with me,” Aziraphale confessed, turning to face her companion. “My only real past-time is reading.”

“But that's wonderful!”

Aziraphale laughed. “Ask everyone who got tired of waiting for me to finish with my books, if it was wonderful. Ask my late husband, who was disappointed in the wife who never wanted to do anything but be in the library. I'm hardly wonderful.”

“No.” Crowley was quivering with emotion. “You're _clever_. You _read_. So you know the best stories. You know everything about the world! You _know_ things.” She swallowed hard. “That's all I ever wanted. Was to know things. Was to ask, and learn.”

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. She reached out and grasped Crowley's hand. “Perhaps...perhaps you won't grow bored of me.” She blushed. “I think that you could pull me away from my reading very easily, anyway. To tell you things.”

“Mistress.” Crowley looked down in her lap. “Please, Mistress. Tell me a story?”

“What kind of story, dear companion?” Aziraphale started to stroke Crowley's hand softly. They were starting to hit truths.

“A love story. Please.”

Aziraphale smiled, and squeezed Crowley's hand. “Oh, yes. I know so many love stories.” She tangled their fingers together, and began to tell Crowley an old, beautiful tale, a story that had never been written down, but told around fires in a desert at night, there at the beginning of things, when an angel could sit down with humans, wings unfurled, and drink in their tales.

Aziraphale smiled when the story ended, and reached out a hand to wipe a tear from Crowley's cheek. The story wasn't a sad one, but it had sad parts, and ended very beautifully, she often thought. “Oh, poor dear Crowley,” she crooned, and looked down at herself and laughed. “Oh! I've not got any clothes on.”

Crowley giggled and wiped her eyes. “You don't. Are you cold, Mistress? I'm so sorry, I've failed you, I ought to have put you in a dressing gown or something.”

“You've done no such thing,” Aziraphale said, and giggled, and poked her breast. “I must look a sight, telling you stories like this, my belly and my breasts hanging out.”

“They're beautiful,” Crowley said.

“Beg pardon?”

“Your breasts. And your stomach. They're beautiful,” Crowley repeated.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly.

“Surely someone has told you _that_ ,” Crowley said, horrified.

Aziraphale shook her head slowly. “Er, no. The opposite, often.” She pushed herself to sitting, hunched over a little. “I'm a dumpy old bookish thing. And I'm not sorry about that, either, for the record.”

“Mistress, no.” Crowley tucked Aziraphale's hands into hers. “You're beautiful. And clever, and you like to read, and you tell the best stories. You're, well.” She cleared her throat. “You're very warm. And soft. And beautiful.”

Aziraphale looked at her sharply, looking for teasing, but of course none was there. She softened, her thumbs moving across Crowley's hands. “Thank you, Crowley. That's very kind of you.”

“Kind nothing,” Crowley grumped. “It's the truth.”

Aziraphale laughed and squeezed her hands. “Well, thank you nonetheless.” She wanted to badly to kiss Crowley, to return the compliments, to tease and cuddle her and make her smile, over and over and over again. But it would be too forward. Her kind, sharp, brave companion would need a little time, she thought. Need to choose her freely, too.

“Nonetheless,” Crowley said. “Do you wish to dress for the day?”

“I suppose I'd better,” Aziraphale sighed. “I think I shall take lunch in my study, today. There is a book there that I want to consult especially. Do you like poetry, Crowley?”

“I don't know, Mistress. There's not much call for it, in service.”

Something caught in Aziraphale's throat. No  _poetry_ . No words to make one's heart soar, or to soothe when sorrow got too deep. Oh, Crowley, oh poor darling creature.

“Mistress?” Crowley frowned. “Mistress, forgive me. You should have someone educated as a companion, someone more like you...”

“I bloody well should not!” Aziraphale shook her head. “No, Crowley, there's nothing to forgive. Dress me quick, girl, and help me to my study. I have something to read to you.” Should she start with Shakespeare? Or Whitman? Or Eliot? Eurgh. Maybe not Eliot, the old prat.

“Yes, Mistress.” Crowley rose, giving her an uncertain glance, but Aziraphale's eyes were blazing, and she had found the key to unlock what would be between them.

Aziraphale called out the garments she wanted, and Crowley flew to do as bidden. She was using both crutches, but could easily throw things over her shoulder, and Aziraphale made a mental note to help her with undressing for their bath that afternoon, so she didn't have to kneel and stand quite so much. And of course Crowley could sit and help her dress easily, getting her into another tailored suit, this one mostly of gold and cream.

“Very handsome, Mistress,” she approved, and Aziraphale couldn't help but preen.

“Do you think? I like it myself.” 

“As you ought. Hold still.” She had taken Aziraphale's comb from her vanity, and now used it, gentle on her curls, trying not to break them, but introducing some sort of order to things.

Aziraphale froze, breathless at the intimacy. She'd combed and braided and played with Crowley's hair hundreds of times by now, even when it was shaved short she was always petting her head and exclaiming over the softness, the fuzzy suede feel of it while Crowley purred like a cat. But Crowley had never done her hair. Aziraphale always assumed it was too dull; cropped short and with impossible curls and sometimes fluffy and mostly disappointing.

But here she was, handling it with skill and gentle fingers, moving everything into place, smoothing and tidying. She held up a hand mirror and Aziraphale instinctively smiled.

“Did I do all right, Mistress?”

“Perfect. Crowley, thank you. I know it's not...how I ought to look, and probably very dull, especially next to your crown...”

“I like your hair, Mistress.” Crowley set her things aside and pushed herself up, settling on her crutches. They were a bright, candy-apple red today, and Aziraphale loved them, loved the effect, loved her dearest getting to play at whatever she liked even when her body was being recalcitrant. And it really was a _smashing_ effect against her black dress. “Did you have to cut it short? When you became ill?”

“Oh,” Azirphale said, dropping her eyes. “Er, no. I've always worn it short. I...like it.”

“Mistress.” Aziraphale _had_ to look up at that tone. “Forgive me, Mistress, that was rude of me to ask. You should look exactly as you like. And it's very handsome. Truly. It suits you perfectly.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said simply. “Crowley, I appreciate your thoughts. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't give a damn if you like how I dress or how I wear my hair, or not.”

Crowley broke into a huge grin. “Well, I'd bloody hope not, Mistress. It's  _your_ hair and clothes. Now come – if you're strong enough, I'll help you to your study.” She looked worried for a moment. “And if you're not, I can bring you books here. Please don't feel you'd miss out, Mistress, and you mustn't push yourself. I'm not educated, but I can read, I'm sure I can find anything for you.”

“ _Pace_ , Crowley,” Aziraphale managed, in the midst of falling utterly, completely, head-over-heels in love at that grin, at Crowley approving of her not giving a shit, of _everything_. Good God, was this what it had been like for Crowley on the wall at Eden? How had she _survived_? “I'm well enough to walk a few hundred yards.” She rose and rested her hand on Crowley's shoulder, gentle as could be, and let her companion guide her to the study.

Aziraphale settled, and the books she most wanted were, miraculously, right by her chair. The chair they shared, in a way; the loveseat had become a lover's chair, well-padded and comfortable. Aziraphale sat facing the room, and Crowley looked out over the gardens, the two of them close enough to touch – or kiss – but separated by the design of the seat.

“I know you have to fetch lunch in a moment, but Crowley, please, I just want to...I hope you like this,” she said, and opened the book, and read aloud:

_I celebrate myself, and sing myself,_

_And what I assume you shall assume,_

_For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you._

_I loafe and invite my soul,_

_I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass._

For goodness' sake, why had she not read this to Crowley before? They  _had literally shared atoms_ . What was their life now but loafing and observing the grass and loving one another? 

And what was her life now, but celebrating herself, in ways she never had been allowed to before? She had become a creature of joy and celebration and yes, the nervousness and the trauma and the fear was still there, but she was so much else now, too.

_My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this air,_

_Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same,_

_I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,_

_Hoping to cease not till death._

Aziraphale was a terrible actress. Of course she was, and she knew it, but she could manage to inject a tremble into her voice at the words 'in perfect health'.

Crowley, not a slump in the drama department either, gave a full-body shudder, and gasped at the word 'death'.

Aziraphale looked up and met her eyes, blazing amber and black. She opened her mouth, and closed it, and tried to put her whole heart into her gaze. How dear Crowley already was to her. How she was going to get strong again. How she would cease not. And how she wanted, ached for, someone to love her.

Crowley reached across the boundary between them, lips parting, eyes shining with unshed tears, and Aziraphale began to reach back, her hand slipping into Crowley's, the book entirely forgotten in her lap.

The grandfather clock in the corridor struck the quarter-hour; it was nearly one, and time for lunch.

They both jumped at the sound, and Crowley continued the leap to stand, her crutches right there against the window and easily retrieved.

“I must get lunch, Mistress,” she said quickly, and all but vanished.

Aziraphale found she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling and her heart pounding. Perhaps. Perhaps there was...an affection for her. Not just pity, which Crowley surely mostly felt for her, this sad old lump of a creature she was, too wrapped up in books to learn to live, disappointing everyone when she refused to conveniently die...

Aziraphale blinked, and remembered the woman who grinned at her anger, who encouraged her to not give a shit what Crowley thought of her looks, and smiled. Just a little.

_Creeds and schools in abeyance,_

_Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,_

_I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,_

_Nature without check with original energy._

Aziraphale read aloud to the empty room, and then waited for Crowley to return with their lunch.


	2. She Stays

They remained in the study after lunch. Aziraphale read poetry aloud, but Crowley settled some distance away, working at her knitting in the bright sunlight. It seemed doubly cruel, Aziraphale thought – Crowley was far away, no chance of even an accidental brush of the hands, some innocent touch. But she was lit by golden sun, her hair aflame, stunning in a way she wouldn't be in the shadier part of the study.

Her body was so beautiful, Aziraphale thought, as she paged through her books looking for poems about longing and love. The graceful bend of her neck as she leaned over her work, clever fingers making fabric out of string and two sticks. Her narrow shoulders and the curve of her bosom that flowed into a tiny waist. Her back and hips sprawled, took up space, were glorious.

Aziraphale desperately turned back to her book to read bittersweet, beautiful words out loud.

(She was a little surprised at how real the ache to touch Crowley was. When they were together, it was common for one to touch the other's hand, or waist, or back, to draw attention or what-have-you. And of course, kisses. She hadn't kissed Crowley since they woke that morning. There was less and less acting in her yearning, even after not very long at all.)

So their afternoon passed, in quiet words and the clack of Crowley's needles.

“You will help me bathe now,” Aziraphale said when the clock struck the proper time, trying to be commanding and demanding for Crowley. “No scent in the bath today. And I think I shall simply wear my dressing-gown after. I'm tired, and will want to go to bed early.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Crowley got herself up, moving carefully but without pain, and led the way down to the bath. 

“Crowley,” she murmured as they entered the conservatory. “Let me take care of my shoes and socks, all right?”

Crowley sighed. “Probably be for the best.”

“I'll come up with something good for you,” Aziraphale promised, and Crowley perked right up. Right, fuck. What could she be more demanding about? Perhaps it was time to be very spoiled. More spoiled than she naturally was, what with her sweet demon seeing to her every whim, it felt like.

Aziraphale settled on a bench and quickly took care of shoes and socks while Crowley miracled the bath to steaming. “Undress me,” she said, trying to sound tired and a little sulky.

They bathed in full sunlight, even in late afternoon – as Aziraphale was reminded when the sun came from behind a cloud and she winced at the brightness.

“Mistress?” Crowley paused in obvious concern.

“No, forgive me. I sat too long in the dark.” She felt dark and cold and stupid next to her lithe companion. Crowley carried so much light with her, in her hair and her strange, wonderful eyes. Aziraphale was colourless and dull as a dirty pebble.

“Someone ought to plant things that flower in summer,” Crowley observed, as she joined Aziraphale on the little bench. “Or put out leaves or something. Shade this place in summer, but catch all the light in winter.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale rubbed her eyes. “I shall remember to tell the gardener. You're very clever, Crowley.”

“Mistress, what's wrong?” Crowley sounded uncertain – maybe even frightened. “You sound so unhappy.”

“I told you, I simply sat too long in the dark,” Aziraphale said irritably. “I will feel better with my bath. Perhaps I was out of bed too much, I'm tired.”

“Oh, Mistress.” Crowley started to unbutton her jacket, then slipped it from her shoulders. She was so close Aziraphale could smell her soap and her perfume. Tricksy creature, she must have put it on sometime when she was out of the room. “Let me take care of you.”

“Yes, that is what you were hired for,” Aziraphale said bitterly. “Your assigned duty. To care for me.”

“Mmm. And to be your companion. I liked the things you read to me today, Mistress. It's funny, isn't it, how a person who's never known you could put your heart down on a page?”

Oh, like Crowley didn't know  _exactly_ who that one sonnet was written for! Awful thing, being so gentle and tender, and undoing her waistcoat without feeling her up which was, frankly, a real achievement for her.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “It's funny. Please be quiet, Crowley, just until we're in the bath. My head is tired.”

Crowley caught her eye, and smiled, and the bliss rolling off of her was palpable in the air. Oh, you old serpent. She  _really_ liked being ordered around; Aziraphale looked forward to piling on the praise.

Crowley's fingers were clever and gentle, getting Aziraphale stripped down. Shirt, and trousers, undershirt and bra and pants all joined the rest of her clothes in a neat pile.

And, of course, she quickly and efficiently shed her own clothes, tossing them to the side.

“No,” Aziraphale said, firm but kind. She would order Crowley around from dawn 'til dusk, but she never could stay annoyed at her, even in play, for long. “You must take care of your clothes too. Fold them neatly, Crowley.”

Crowley turned and stared at her, openmouthed.

“Did you not hear me?” Aziraphale asked. 

“N-no Mistress. Yes Mistress.” Crowley licked her lips. “I'm sorry, Mistress.”

Aziraphale shook her head. “I can see you're going to take a great deal of instructing. You don't take care of yourself nearly as well as you take care of me, do you?”

Crowley folded her clothes lightening-fast. “I couldn't possibly say, Mistress.”

“That's what I thought. Into my bath, please.”

Crowley grinned. “Right away, Mistress.”

It was Aziraphale who helped her into the bath, but of course they didn't comment on that, and as soon as they were both in Aziraphale went limp again, floating and sighing in the steam. It really did feel wonderful; she wasn't used to spending so much time so still anymore, and she could stretch gently in the back. Oh, that was a good one – have Crowley help her stretch a little.

Crowley sat on a ledge that kept her submerged up to her shoulders, and Aziraphale couldn't help but watch longingly, that beautiful body that was so close, but untouchable.

“Do you like my body, Mistress?” Crowley asked, bold as anything while pretending to be a naif.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, without hesitation. “You're very lovely, Crowley.”

Crowley smiled, and pushed off to splash a little warm water onto Aziraphale's belly. “I like yours too, Mistress.”

“It's all right, I suppose. Gets me around,” Aziraphale observed.

“It's beautiful,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale just smiled up at her. Crowley could stand in the water without assistance, but it didn't seem entirely fair to make her work that bit harder to hold still and steady. “My arms and legs are tired. Will you help me stretch?”

“Of course, Mistress,” Crowley said. She flipped onto her back, bracing against the side of the pool and letting the water take her weight. Moving sure and easy, she helped Aziraphale stretch her arms and shoulders, massaging a little as she went, smiling when Aziraphale groaned loudly after her shoulders popped, body easing.

They moved around each other when it was time to stretch and move Aziraphale's hips and knees. Crowley did something frankly magical with her hamstring – and then, the actual demon! She did something  _else_ so that her grip slipped, and Aziraphale gave a little shriek and a splash before landing on Crowley, toppling straight into her arms!

She gasped as they hit the water, their weights sending them under the surface, their bodies pressed together. Breast to breast, belly to belly, oh  _God_ Crowley your  _body_ , Aziraphale's hands came around her thighs, catching her dear one, and Crowley's arms were tight around her as they righted, heads popping out of the water. Aziraphale had breathed in a little water with her gasp, and she choked and coughed, coughed again and shook her head before she could take a deep breath, all still held tightly in Crowley's strong arms, against her wiry, beautiful, glorious body.

“Mistress!” Crowley had never sounded so terrified. “Mistress, please forgive me. It was all my fault, I'm so, so sorry. I'm so sorry. If you need to dismiss me, I'll understand, I'm a _terrible_ companion to you.”

“Goodness, Crowley.” Aziraphale coughed again, and Crowley pushed off, gliding them both over to a small inset seat, just big enough if they essentially sat on each others' laps. “Don't be a dockle, it was a simple mistake.”

“You could have drowned!”

Aziraphale couldn't help it – she  _laughed_ . “Oh, Crowley. Not with you here to save me.” She smiled warmly, and rested her head on Crowley's shoulder for a moment. “I'm serious, dear girl. It was a little mistake. We're both slippery as fish. I'm not angry at you at all.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale's mood softened immediately. Probably helped by the way they still had their arms about one another.

“My dearest Crowley,” she said. “You're only human. I told you from the start – I wouldn't have hired you, if I didn't think you would succeed. And you are.”

Crowley ducked her head. “I'm glad I'm acceptable, Mistress.”

“Crowley, you are better than my wildest dreams,” Aziraphale said firmly. “I promise. Now dear, just let me rest a bit, and float. I think I'm all stretched out.” She smiled, inviting Crowley to share the joke, and got the tiniest of shy smiles in return.

Her heart was going to leap out of her chest one of these days, and she hoped it stained the hell out of whatever Crowley was wearing at the time. Serve her right.

The rest of her bath went peacefully, and she was quietly pleased to see Crowley settle and let the water hold her body. She wasn't in pain – Aziraphale could always taste that in the air around her – but it wasn't very comfortable, always having to account for joints that went in every direction but where they ought to go. It would make things easier, if Mistress was very tired, Aziraphale decided, and spent the rest of the day in bed. And possibly most of tomorrow. Also, it meant Crowley would be in bed with her, and that was always a good thing.

“Just my dressing-gown,” she said, as she helped Crowley out of the bath and to their bench. “I should like to have dinner in my room. I'm very tired.”

“Of course, Mistress, right away,” Crowley said. She scrubbed Aziraphale dry with great efficiency, rubbing her from tip to toe until her skin glowed. Crowley made quick work of drying and dressing herself, and fetched Aziraphale's dressing-gown from a small cupboard, helping her into it.

Aziraphale made sure to collapse heavily and dramatically into bed once they made it there, and lay placidly while she instructed Crowley just how to situate her – sitting up against pillows, a bolster under her knees, a particular pillow at the small of her back and oh, a cup of tea would be just the thing, wouldn't it?

Crowley simply miracled a little tea service onto the bed, and set a small pot to brew before fussing over Aziraphale some more, plumping a pillow and checking her temperature and pulse.

(Which was quite a trick, since she never bothered with a heartbeat unless she thought about it.)

“Your tea, Mistress,” Crowley said, and handed her the cup, doctored to perfection.

“Thank you, dear girl,” Aziraphale murmured, sipping from the cup with a soft sigh. “I feel as though I ought to apologise. I will be a poor companion tonight.”

“You're a wonderful companion,” Crowley said. “You're still recovering.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “I'll read you more tomorrow,” she promised. “Stories. Or more poems?”

“Whatever you like best,” Crowley said softly, ducking her head. “And only if you're well enough.”

“Is there anything you like in particular?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley smiled, sweet and shy. “I like your love stories.”

“Love stories I can do,” Aziraphale assured her. “Even if I must stay in bed tomorrow, I can read you those.”

Crowley's smile grew, her eyes sweet in the afternoon light. “Thank you, Mistress. I think you must know the best stories.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You know, I think I might?” She smiled softly. “Books have always been my best companions. All stories, really, but books are...” She looked aside. “I can't disappoint them.”

“Mistress, you've never disappointed anyone in your life!”

“Oh, dear girl. I very much have,” Aziraphale assured her. She set her empty teacup aside with a sigh. “Pretty nearly constantly.”

Crowley looked angry, her expressive face darkening. “Well, you've never disappointed  _me_ . And I don't see how you could anyone else, if they were in their right minds. You're...you're good, and so kind, and smart and wonderful! And anyone who doesn't see that can go straight to  _Hell_ !”

“You really believe that,” Aziraphale said, wonder in her voice. “You think I'm...you don't think it's a waste, that the illness left me alive.”

Crowley made a horrible sound, and what was Aziraphale to do but gasp and hold out her arms while Crowley flew into them and kissed her, and kissed her again, and again, sipped the moans from her mouth and clasping Aziraphale's face in her hands. Aziraphale tried to return frantic kiss for frantic kiss, but there was no way to keep up with the wild woman in her arms.

“Never say such a thing again,” Crowley demanded in a raw voice. “Never, ever wish you had died instead. Never! Where would I be without you?!”

Aziraphale just kissed her, starving, tugging so that Crowley's light weight landed on her body. The girl weighed hardly more than a feather! Well, that would change soon enough, with Aziraphale to see she got three square meals a day and as much tea as she could hold, to say nothing of puddings and sweetmeats and snacks and wine, oh, it would be  _delicious_ to sip wine from Crowley's mouth.

The frantic energy died away as they held one another tenderly, and Aziraphale kissed her, very soft on swollen lips, and tucked her close, letting Crowley rest her head on Aziraphale's chest. “Oh, my dear Crowley.”

“Mistress Aziraphale.” Crowley smiled and snuggled close. “Mistress, I've wanted that since the moment I set eyes on you.”

“Little minx.” Aziraphale tapped the tip of her nose. “I believe I have too. You're so beautiful.” She smiled down at her. “Well, how do you like being kissed?”

“I love it.” Crowley wriggled. “I think I like kissing you better, though.” She wormed her arms around Aziraphale and hugged her tightly. “Don't want to have died. _Please_ , Mistress. Don't want that.”

“Oh, precious.” Aziraphale swallowed. “You know, I think I am beginning to see why I didn't die. I am...I think I can be worthy of living.”

“You always were,” Crowley said. “Just by existing.” She gave Aziraphale another squeeze. “But I'll help you. You'll get so strong again and we can have adventures or read in your library or anything you like, for the rest of your life.”

“And you'll be with me?”

“For as long as you'll have me, Mistress,” Crowley said, turning her head to kiss Aziraphale's shoulder.

“Ah. For the rest of my life, then.” Aziraphale smiled and petted her dear companion. Crowley was so soft in her arms.

Crowley just smiled and closed her eyes and held on tightly.

Aziraphale stroked her hair tenderly and rubbed her back, falling more and more in love by the moment. Crowley was so beautiful, her body so good in Aziraphale's arms. She was strong as could be, and soft too; she loved poetry and love stories, and she went into Aziraphale's embrace like she was born to be there.

Of course, any beauty on Aziraphale's part was ruined by the way her tummy growled. She closed her eyes and stifled a groan – so much for being an alluring heroine.

A soft touch to her cheek had her opening her eyes, though, to find Crowley kissing her.

“Now then, Mistress,” she said, all but _glowing_ , just from gazing at Aziraphale. “What do you want for your supper? I know you feel poorly, but will you eat just a little, for me? It will help, and I'll make you anything you like. Anything that might tempt you, Mistress.”

Well, points for emotional manipulation, Aziraphale reckoned, and she smiled back.

“I will need you to feed me, I think,” she said. “I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me...”

“You've had a long day, and you're getting used to me, and then I practically drowned you.” Crowley winked, and kissed her other cheek. “Of course I'll feed you, Mistress, it would be my pleasure.”

“Then sushi,” Aziraphale decided, throwing anachronism to the wind, and also she really _did_ want sushi. “And you did not 'practically drown me', Crowley, goodness.” She pulled her close for a moment, for a soft kiss. “So dramatic.”

“Yes, _I'm_ the dramatic one,” Crowley observed. She kissed Aziraphale's forehead, and the ripped herself away with obvious effort. “Right. Supper for my Mistress, coming right up.”

She snapped her fingers and a tray appeared full of delicious sights and smells – seaweed salad and nigiri and little cups of tea and dumplings and pretty rolls arrayed in little rows. Aziraphale cooed over them, and giggled when Crowley selected the first roll, dipping it in a touch of soy sauce and holding it to her lips.

Their eyes locked as Aziraphale ate from the chopsticks, and she could feel Crowley's hand trembling as she fed her darling Mistress.

“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, when she'd eaten.

“Oh,” Crowley agreed, and that was how Aziraphale knew they had both simultaneously learned about their new shared kink. There was a non-zero possibility that it might be awhile until she fed herself again.

“You have to eat too,” Aziraphale persuaded her gently. “It does me no good if my sweet girl is hungry.”

Crowley smiled and patted her hand. “I'm fine. I'm spoiled rotten for food, and you know it, Mistress.” She ate a dumpling, though, and then fed more of the roll to Aziraphale, careful not to mix flavours, and offer her pickled ginger between dishes. Crowley ate about one bite for every three of Aziraphale's, but Aziraphale wasn't going to argue; sleep was Crowley's chosen human Thing. (Also hugs and kisses and cuddles, waves of love that rolled off of her. And gardening, couldn't forget that.)

Dinner took some time, what with Crowley's tender hand-feeding, and the intimacy of offering her sips of tea, but neither of them were complaining. Aziraphale ate until she was deliciously full, and any leftovers miraculously vanished, soon replaced by Crowley snuggling up to her side, rubbing her stomach softly.

“Was your dinner up to standard, Mistress?” she asked anxiously. 

“Exceeded it. Crowley, you truly are a gift,” Aziraphale assured her. “I've never been less than pleased with you, not since I first set eyes on you, my dear.” She kissed above one golden eye. “You are _wonderful_ , in every way. The best companion I could ever ask for.”

Crowley glowed with the praise. “Thank you, Mistress. I can always do better, but I haven't been too poor, for just starting out.”

“You do perfectly,” Aziraphale assured her, and gave her a little squeeze. “I am so glad to have you, dearest.” She sighed, and snuggled down in her pillows. “Will you dress me for bed? I know it's so early, but I might as well.”

“Of course, Mistress. I'll change for bed as well,” Crowley told her. Tender hands slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders, and Crowley went to hang it up and retrieve both of their nightgowns. She was getting really very good at dressing Aziraphale, and got her into her nightgown easily. 

(Crowley had already been  _extremely_ good at undressing Aziraphale, the dear thing.)

She got changed herself into the see-through nightie, and settled on the bed, her legs in their usual sprawl, but sitting facing Aziraphale. Aziraphale admired the effect – the soft black fabric against Crowley's skin, the little sprays of freckles that were already coming up on her cheeks. She sometimes got freckles where Aziraphale kissed her, though they only lasted a few days, and the ones on her shoulders from before their play had already faded away. Her body, slim and strong and beautiful, was fully visible under the thin fabric. It draped against her breasts, falling from them to barely skim her belly, and Aziraphale licked her lips. Her bosom was as good as bare in the nightie, which meant look but don't touch, but  _oh_ , Aziraphale really, really liked looking.

Crowley gave her a wicked smile, and began to let her hair down, first unpinning her long braids, then undoing the braids to let her hair cascade down nearly to the bed.

“ _Oh_ ,” Aziraphale sighed, and held out one hand. “Leave it down for a bit? Please?”

“Of course.” Crowley quickly took out the other braid and tilted and shook her head, the shining waterfall landing across Aziraphale.

She laughed, and ran her fingers through her sweet girl's hair, petting gently and weaving a lock around her fingers. “When I am stronger, may I do your hair?”

“Oh, that would be lovely.” Crowley lay down again against Aziraphale's side, warm and cuddly, her hair spilling over them both. It was a warm evening, the air soft and sun-filled, and Aziraphale cupped her hand around Crowley's chin, drawing her close for a kiss. 

They passed the evening like that, kissing and holding one another, Crowley's gorgeous hair like a blanket over them. Aziraphale mustered up her strength and gave her a tiny braid, before lying down in Crowley's arms, truly spent. Crowley fussed, cocooning her in pillows and holding her up so she could sip a little water, finally tucking her in under a light summer blanket. She braided her hair back in the last of the summer light – keeping Azirphale's tiny addition – and dotted Aziraphale's face with kisses.

“Sleep in my arms?” Aziraphale whispered. “Please?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Crowley said, snuggling down at last, her light weight against Aziraphale's body. Her hips canted noticeably, but her leg was strong where she flung it over Aziraphale's lap, and they kissed one more time, just wanting to get one last little bit of affection in before sleep parted them temporarily.

“Sweet dreams,” Aziraphale bid her, and closed her eyes, and just held Crowley and listened to her breathe, and marvelled at what a treasure she had. And also the part where they barely made it twenty-four hours without a proper kiss and cuddle and caress. Something to be proud of, she reckoned.

Aziraphale woke up first as usual, and decided it was a day for treats, and thus instead of grabbing a book and magicking some tea as she normally would, she pretended to be asleep, letting Crowley be the first to wake.

She was rewarded for her patience, as she'd fully expected to be. Crowley awoke with a soft gasp; of course she hadn't moved from Aziraphale's arms in the night. She nuzzled her head, and gasped again. “It's real,” she whispered, knowing full well that a) Aziraphale was quite awake and b) there wasn't much she loved more than a really dramatic scene she could insert herself into. Goodness, she was a lucky angel. “She loves me, it's  _real_ .” She buried her face in Aziraphale's shoulder with a little sob. “She wants  _me_ .”

Aziraphale stirred, and the body in her arms froze.

“....Crowley?” she murmured, still definitely mostly asleep as she called out for her companion.

“Shh, Mistress,” Crowley murmured. “I'm right here. You're not alone.”

Well, look, you couldn't  _blame_ her for bursting into tears. It was early and she'd been trying really hard to be a good Mistress and command Crowley and be helpless and also fall in love at the same time, it wasn't  _her_ fault that the truth of Crowley's words hit her like a brick.

“Mistress!”

Aziraphale shook her head. “Yellow. Crowley, it's me. I'm not alone. I'm not  _alone,_ ” she sobbed.

“Oh, angel.” Crowley didn't even shift their hold, just started rocking Aziraphale a little. “You're not. You're not, angel, I've got you. I always have and I always will. Shhh, shh, it's all right. Let all those nasty feelings out.”

Aziraphale choked out a laugh and bawled her eyes out into Crowley's shoulder. “You  _lo-huh-huh-ve_ me,” she tried to explain through hiccups, and coughed, and cried harder. “They were going to kill me and I think they always wanted to and you  _love_ me.”

“More than you can imagine,” Crowley whispered fiercely, hugging Aziraphale so tightly it was good she didn't need to breathe. “Even you, angel. Whatever you feel coming off of me, multiply by ten, a hundred, a thousand.”

Aziraphale cried and nodded and held on while the wave of emotion flowed through her. She was  _loved_ . She wasn't alone anymore. That would never, ever, ever be something she took for granted.

Crowley held her steady, her bedrock, and her heart was soothed and eventually the tears stopped too.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, and laughed at the look Crowley shot her. “I am! I didn't mean to start crying all over you. Ugh,” she said, and made a face. A snap of her fingers later, and at least her face was clean and dry and not all splotchy-red.

“Poor angel,” Crowley murmured, and kissed her forehead. “Zira, d'you need a break?”

Aziraphale shook her head. “No! No, please. I don't feel bad, not really.” She smiled at Crowley, feeling warm and wobbly from love but very, very happy down to her toes. “It just hits out of nowhere sometimes, you know?”

“I know,” Crowley promised her, and kissed her cheeks. “All right, angel. But don't be afraid to red, please.”

“I promise,” Aziraphale said. “I wouldn't hesitate.” She smiled and touched their noses together. “Right. So, you've finally woken your mistress...”

She let Crowley's laugh take them back into the scene, where she blinked sleepily and smiled at her. “My Crowley. Dear girl, you're right where I left you.”

Crowley snuggled into her arms, head tucked neatly under Aziraphale's chin. “Of course. How do you feel?”

“Wonderful,” Aziraphale said. “Truly, so much better. Stronger.” She kissed the top of Crowley's hair. “My lovely companion, you must sleep in my arms every night until I am well.”

“And then?”

“We can decide if anything should change,” Aziraphale teased, and giggled when Crowley wriggled her arms under Aziraphale's body and hugged her tightly. “Right, my dearest darling. Breakfast, I think.”

“Right away, Mistress.” Crowley sat and snapped her fingers, and today it was fluffy waffles swimming in syrup and jewel-like fruits and of course plenty of coffee. In lieu of a rose, many of the fruits were carved into cunning little shapes, pretty as could be, and Aziraphale cooed appreciatively over them. She made Crowley take a small plate of her own, and then feasted herself, bestowing praise on her wise, talented companion. Sticky lips were kissed clean, and then sticky fingers as well, and the whole lot was miracled away, both of them politely ignoring that part. Crowley quickly dressed herself for the day, and Aziraphale was treated to a sweep of ruby hair again – and to seeing the freckles coming up on Crowley's cheeks and shoulders where she'd kissed her already.

Aziraphale settled down for her daily massage, smiling brightly up at her sweet girl as Crowley tenderly undressed her and got her settled.

“When I am better, I want to do this for you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “If you'll let me.”

Crowley startled. “Mistress, if you want to, of course.”

“If _you_ want to,” Aziraphale said firmly.

“I...I don't know,” Crowley admitted. “Can we try a little bit, and see if I like it?” She looked down, and touched her chest, over her heart. “I've never been touched like that before.”

“Oh, Crowley. Of course. We'll start off very gently, perhaps with your hands?” Aziraphale offered, while Crowley oiled up said hands and started in on Aziraphale's shoulders.

“I think I would like that,” Crowley agreed, and smiled at her. “I won't be as nice to touch as you are.”

“Oh, I don't believe that for a moment,” Aziraphale huffed. “You're wonderful to hug and cuddle and things like that, after all.”

Crowley went the sweetest shade of pink Aziraphale had ever seen. “Thank you, Mistress,” she said shyly, and got to work so well that Aziraphale couldn't make words even if she'd wanted to. Crowley really was  _astonishingly_ good at this.

And even better – today's massage ended with Crowley pressing soft, openmouthed kisses all down her spine, leaving her feeling even more liquid. She could barely roll herself over and gather Crowley in her arms, and gave up entirely on kisses, resting her head on her companion's chest and letting Crowley croon over her and finger-comb her hair and just hold her in the pale morning light.

Aziraphale only rested a short time, though, feeling that Crowley's tender ministrations ought to have some reward; she ought to see her Mistress getting better under her care.

“I think I should like to sit in the study and read a little, while I'm feeling so fine,” Aziraphale decided.

“Oh, yes!” Crowley kissed her brow, and sat up. “What will you wear today, Mistress?”

Aziraphale called out her desired outfit – a cream-coloured linen suit, though with a yellow shirt and her tartan bowtie – and Crowley assembled it and dressed her, and combed her hair again, seeing to it that her Mistress looked her very best. It was another two-crutches day; they were still bright, shiny red, and Aziraphale loved the little flash of her demon-love in them; Crowley wasn't going to hide herself even when she was playing someone fully abled.

Perhaps she lingered a touch too long in the bed, and her companion clearly worried more than she needed to. “Mistress, I can bring you books,” Crowley reminded her softly. “You're still recovering, should you be out of bed?”

“Oh, I'm just being lazy now,” Aziraphale said, and took a deep breath, and rose. “Come, and I'll read to you some more, if you like.”

Crowley bowed her head. “If you would be willing, Mistress, I wouldn't say no.”

Aziraphale caressed her cheek, gave Crowley a moment to rise and get settled, and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder, a stand-in for being supported and helped to the study.

Aziraphale settled heavily on a little sofa that had appeared in addition to the lovers' chair, and retrieved a book that had very conveniently found itself on the closest end table. She helped Crowley arrange herself, half stretched-out, her hips popping and crackling, but her dear one sighing in bliss as she settled basically in Azirphale's lap, head cradled against her shoulder, legs doing whatever they wanted.

Aziraphale giggled softly, and stroked Crowley's hair, tracing a smooth, shining braid. “Forgive me. I find all I want to do is look at you, and adore you, and learn everything about you.”

Crowley smiled up at her. “That won't take long. I've told you most of it already. I was orphaned, and raised in a great house as a servant.”

“Even as a little thing?”

Crowley nodded. “My first memories are of helping the cook. Then the housemaids, when I was big enough.”

“Oh, my darling Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “You poor thing.”

“It could have been worse,” Crowley said. “I was never cold, never hungry. Bodily, I had all the basics.”

“But no one loved you!”

Crowley closed her eyes. “There's worse things.”

“Yes. But you deserve to be loved and adored and cherished,” Aziraphale said. “Oh, Crowley. You _will_ stay with me, won't you? When I'm better?”

“Mistress, of course!” Crowley snuggled a little closer to get her point across. “Until you grow tired of me.”

“Well, that will never happen, so set your mind at ease,” Aziraphale advised. “So you were raised in service, darling. You said you'd been a nanny?”

Crowley nodded. “For several years, for the child of my master. He was a sweet thing, but outgrew the need for a caretaker.”

“I see.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley's forehead, and smiled into it. “Was he more or less trouble than I am?”

“Mistress!”

Aziraphale giggled, and set Crowley off laughing. “You didn't answer me!”

“Sometimes yes. Sometimes no.” When Crowley smiled, her eyes glowed, and it was beautiful. 

“Honestly, that's better than I expected,” Aziraphale confessed. “I think my nurse was growing tired of me, when I dismissed her.”

“Well, I can't say I think much of her,” Crowley sniffed. “You're hardly trouble at all, really.”

“I can hardly _move_ at all,” Aziraphale observed wryly. 

“You will get better, though, won't you?” Crowley asked, suddenly worried. “It sounds like such a dreadful illness, to...to almost...” She swallowed, unable to say the words.

“Oh, darling Crowley. Yes, of course. Full recovery. I just need time and plenty of rest, and baths and massages and all the good things you give me,” Aziraphale assured her.

Crowley smiled, daring and sure of herself, and pecked a kiss on Aziraphale's lips. “And kisses?”

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale said. “I will need dozens, no _hundreds_ of kisses. At least.”

Crowley giggled, and moved so she could better get her arms around Aziraphale, and better sip kisses from her lips. Aziraphale held her tight around the waist, keeping her safe and steady, and kissed back eagerly.

“Am I all right?” Crowley asked. “I've never kissed anyone but you.”

Aziraphale quietly contemplated murder, but, well, after pulling the 'I don't know why I survived' emotional bomb to set all this off, she probably deserved everything she had coming to her.

“You're perfect,” she said. “Truly, Crowley. You give the most wonderful kisses.” She smiled softly, and moved one hand to cradle Crowley's dear head, and leaned in, her mouth already opening. She touched her tongue to Crowley's lips, and they parted in an instant, the kiss deepening, becoming more intimate as they tasted one another.

Aziraphale kissed her way, openmouthed and wet, to Crowley's collar, and moaned into her skin.

She moaned again when she felt Crowley take her hand, and rest it on her breast, soft and round and perfect.

“Are you sure?” she whispered, nuzzling around Crowley's ear.

“While I'm wearing clothes, yes,” Crowley murmured back. 

Aziraphale nodded and cupped her breast, squeezing it softly and kissing Crowley's throat, her head thrown back and making the loveliest sounds.

They kissed and groped and kissed some more until the clock struck one and Aziraphale's stomach growled at the same time.

“Mistress!” Crowley was horrified. “You're going to keep me from my duties, I can tell.”

Aziraphale giggled, and kissed her neck one more time. “I'm not sorry.”

Crowley sighed deeply, looked at Aziraphale, looked at her crutches, made a face, and snapped her fingers. A plate of sandwiches and a bottle of lemonade appeared next to the loveseat they were on. “Eat,” Crowley commanded.

“I thought I gave the orders around here?” Aziraphale said.

“When you've eaten and rested and have more strength than a kitten, I'll stop giving you orders,” Crowley said, looking the plate over with a gimlet eye. She picked out the freshest sandwich and handed it over, and poured Aziraphale a glass of lemonade, all while twisted around quite impossibly.

Aziraphale just smiled, and ate her lunch, her dear companion sprawled on her lap.

Finally, finally, after a few more kisses, Aziraphale opened her book. She made sure Crowley was quite comfortable, kissed her one more time, and began to read aloud.

It was an old translation of some Icelandic sagas, and her voice rose and fell sweetly, telling the old tales in the warm, cosy study, the light falling so prettily through the windows and onto the plants that decorated most surfaces.

Aziraphale watched Crowley's eyes close; not quite asleep, but perhaps dozing, soothed by the story and the warm afternoon. She was listening, though, smiling at the jokes and the twists and turns of the tale, so light and so dear in Aziraphale's arms.

When the long story was ended, she set the book aside and kissed above one eye, then the other, smiling when they opened and Crowley gazed up at her.

“Is there anything you want, Mistress?” she asked softly. “I would do anything for you.”

“I know, precious,” Aziraphale soothed. “Right now I'd just like to sit here with you, though.”

Crowley smiled and snuggled closer, tracing the edge of Aziraphale's jacket. “Mistress? Why did you marry? He didn't love you, and you didn't love him.”

“It was what was expected of me,” Aziraphale said. “I thought I was being good. I never really thought anyone would love me, and he was...very important. I thought that if I tied myself to him, he would help me to be good, and to be the person I was supposed to be.”

“But he didn't,” Crowley said.

“No. I only disappointed him, over and over,” Aziraphale said frankly. “I was lucky, I suppose. He never hit me. He only yelled sometimes. Though he could be...cruel. In letting me know how I'd failed.”

“If he wasn't dead already, I'd kill him myself,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale made a little choking sound, and it was Crowley's turn to cuddle her close, stroking her hair and kissing her cheeks.

“You listen to me,” she said fiercely. “You have _never_ been a disappointment.”

Aziraphale laughed, and wiped her eyes. “You hardly know me. I assure you, I very much have.”

“Name once!”

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “I told my dearest friend that I didn't like them. It was the worst lie I've ever told.”

“Oh, Mistress.” Crowley kissed her. “Your friend has forgiven you. A thousand times over. I'm sure of it.” She pressed little kisses to Aziraphale's mouth until she smiled again.

“I hope so,” Aziraphale said. “But there's your answer, I suppose. I married because I was trying to be someone I'm not. I don't think I'm there just yet. I wish I could be sad my husband died, but I'm not.”

“You didn't love him, and he was a cruel to you,” Crowley pointed out. “Of course you're not sad.” She frowned, and cupped Aziraphale's face in your hands. “I'm so much more worried that you thought you deserved to die. Really, truly, you feel that?”

“Sometimes,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley knew this about her, too. “When I woke up, I think. I believe that was....disappointing to some.”

“I'll kill them,” Crowley said.

“Hush,” Aziraphale told her. “They're gone now. It doesn't matter.” She smiled and turned her face and kissed Crowley's hand. “I've got you, now. Everything is going to be so wonderful.” She giggled, and cupped one of Crowley's breasts and kissed the top of it, then her throat, then her mouth. “I'm so happy, I promise.”

“Good.” Crowley wrapped her arms around Aziraphale's neck and kissed her back, and that was that until late in the afternoon.

“Mistress, I won't have you exhausting yourself,” Crowley scolded. “You're not out of your sickbed, yet!”

“I literally am,” Aziraphale said, sitting by the bath while Crowley undressed her. “I merely removed my coat. You worry too much.”

Crowley gave her a look for the ages. “Mistress Aziraphale, how long has it been since you woke from your illness?”

Aziraphale thought fast. What would be more heartbreaking, a long time or a very little? She had a little revenge left to deal out and/or earn.

“Three months,” she whispered, looking down. “I know, it's been too long,” she said at Crowley's gasp. “I'm pathetic.”

“No. No!” Crowley cupped her face in both hands. “You're so strong, Mistress. I didn't know. I didn't know how ill you'd been, and for so long.” She kissed Aziraphale hard. “Oh, Mistress. You've been fighting so hard for so long. I'm here to help, though. I'll do anything you want, to help.”

Aziraphale smiled at her, looking up through her lashes. “I know, dear Crowley. And you do help, just by existing. By being so kind to me, and such a fun, funny companion.”

“Well, that's something,” Crowley sniffed. “I like to think I can always do better, Mistress. Now, off with those clothes and into your bath.” 

She had Aziraphale stripped in a trice – Crowley's getting-Aziraphale-naked skills were simply  _soaring_ , it had to be said – and herself bare to the skin just moments later. Aziraphale helped Crowley over to the bath and into it, and followed herself, letting her dearest catch her in the warm water, the two of them swimming a little, giggling at the splash Aziraphale accidentally created.

Crowley grinned at her, and squirted a little water at her shoulder.

“Oh! You!” Aziraphale laughed and squirted water back, and yelped and giggled when Crowley got her revenge immediately. 

They played like that for some time, both of them moving easily in the warm, fragrant water, chasing each other about and finally ending in a ducking fight that was called to a draw.

Aziraphale was genuinely breathless with laughter as she swam over to a lovely curved seat, half-reclining, and settled Crowley against her, their bodies slipping together deliciously under the water. She tipped Crowley's chin up and kissed her. “Show me where you want me to hold you,” she murmured softly, and sighed with joy when Crowley settled one hand on her waist and the other curled around her shoulders, snuggling her close. Such a light little thing, and so strong and brave and clever. Aziraphale told her all of this in between kisses, and Crowley basked in the praise. Their games were coming to an end; they had agreed to play only for the weekend, and would wake up tomorrow with the scene over. Best to get in all her praise and adoration while she could.

Also, blunt emotional manipulation. With just a few hours left until bedtime, they seemed to be in a race to see who could get the other to cry first, and Aziraphale aimed to win. She was  _definitely_ the more pathetic of the two of them. She had forgotten, however, that Crowley was a devious terrible snake who knew exactly how to get to her heart.

“I can't believe you're such a good nurse,” Aziraphale said, as Crowley dressed her after their bath. She was still quite naked, of course, because she was a kind demon at heart and liked to give Aziraphale a lot to appreciate. “Truly, dearest, you're better than my actual nurse was.”

Crowley gave her a disdainful look. “I am less and less impressed by that person every day,” she said loftily. “You're not a jot of trouble, Mistress, and you're a far more agreeable patient than I ever was.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, what do you mean? Childhood illnesses and such? That doesn't reflect on you, darling, of course you'd be a bit fussy.”

Crowley smiled at her, getting into her dress. “Oh, no Mistress. I mean, of course I had the usual colds and such. No, when I was very young, I suffered a terrible fall. It took me a long time to recover.”

Oh, what a  _mean person_ Crowley was!

“Crowley! What happened? Are you all right now?” Aziraphale reached out her hands, already fussing. “Darling, come here.”

Crowley laughed and came over to her, not even buttoning her dress all the way up. Her bra was predictably black and lacy and also predictably very beautiful and just about barely held her bosom in place. There was going to need to be  _so_ much revenge. “Mistress, I'm the same person I was a few minutes ago. I healed just fine.”

“Still! You poor little thing! How old were you?”

Crowley shook her head. “I don't remember – I don't really know how old I  _am_ ,” she confessed. “But very small. Still a child.”

“Oh, darling.” Aziraphale hugged her close, rubbing her back. “I hope whoever cared for you was even a tenth as kind as you are to me.”

“You do go on, Mistress,” Crowley said but also hugged her back. “It hurt very badly. I thought I was going to die,” she whispered in Aziraphale's ear, clinging onto her.

Aziraphale made a raw noise, and pressed a kiss to Crowley's throat. This was all true, this was  _true_ , her poor darling who had been flung out of Heaven and still found the courage to love an angel. There was no way Aziraphale would ever deserve this, but she could work to be worthy of it.

“But you didn't,” she whispered back. “My brave Crowley. You're so strong.”

“No less than you,” Crowley murmured. “We've both been through it. Maybe that's why you found something to love in me.”

Oh this  _serpent_ ! It wasn't  _fair_ !

“Crowley, I love _everything_ in you. Of you. Dearest!” Aziraphale rubbed her back. “I love your kindness and how funny you are, and how playful. How you remind me to be those things too. I love how you drink in praise, I love how you take care of me. Darling, there's so much in you worthy of love.”

Hah. Take that.

Crowley had to take a few deep breaths before she could let go, and she scrubbed at her eyes until Aziraphale stopped her hands to kiss one red cheek, then the other. “Gentle, love. Gentle with yourself,” she scolded softly. “I keep telling you, silly girl, you deserve to be treated well too.”

Crowley gave her a tremulous smile, and what could she do but kiss her?

“Let me help you,” she said gently, and reached to begin buttoning Crowley's dress. 

“Don't you _dare_ ,” Crowley ordered, fingers flying to do the buttons up. “Honestly, do I have to sit on you to get you to rest?”

“I wouldn't say no,” Aziraphale said, and winked, and giggled when Crowley sighed loudly. “I love you.”

“Oh, Mistress.” Crowley cupped Aziraphale's face in her hands and kissed her. “I love you too. Now, to bed with you, and you can rest a little before your supper.”

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale teased, and let her companion lead her to her bedroom. It had been a beautiful prison for years, then simply a place to wait and see if she lived or died for months, and now it was rapidly becoming the centre of her heart, where she and Crowley had their best times, where she was comfortable and coddled and Crowley could so easily see to her every need.

Of course, she told her dear companion this as Crowley settled her in bed, arranging pillows so she was propped up against them and wonderfully comfortable.

“You will _live_ ,” Crowley told her firmly, and bussed her forehead. “Do you want your book, Mistress?”

“Not just yet, I think,” Aziraphale sighed, letting her eyes drift shut. “I feel very good like this. Do as you like, Crowley, just please, stay near me?”

“I'm right here,” Crowley assured her, curling her fingers around Aziraphale's hand. “I'm not going anywhere, Mistress.”

Aziraphale smiled, and dozed a little, eased by the lovely bath and the cuddles and the fact that she definitely made Crowley cry.

They had supper in bed as a treat, though Aziraphale was strong enough to feed herself, and could probably have made it to the dining room if she'd wanted to.

“Better you rest, anyway,” Crowley decided as she cleared away the dishes an vanished them with a quiet snap. “There's no need to push yourself, Mistress.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “You're so sure I'm not malingering.”

“My eyes may be demonic, but I do _have_ them,” Crowley grumbled. “You're hardly out of danger, Mistress, and you're likely pushing yourself too hard as it is, if I know you.” She narrowed her eyes. “When is the next time your physician will be here to check on you?”

“Er,” Azirphale said.

“I want to talk to him about how best to care for you,” Crowley said sweetly.

“I love you,” Aziraphale said, not a little desperately. It might not work forever, but she could use it to distract Crowley for as long as possible?

“That's what I thought,” Crowley sighed, and kissed her forehead. “You're lucky I love you back.”

“I am,” Aziraphale said, and meant it with her whole heart.

Crowley just tapped her on the nose, and went to fetch her nightgown so they could both get changed and loaf about in bed until they were sleepy.

It was a warm, fragrant summer evening, and Aziraphale was grateful for her light linen gown, and even more grateful for Crowley's essentially imaginary nightgown.

“Will you tell me more poetry?” Crowley asked, when she had settled them. In the reverse of their usual pose, it was she who sat back against the pillows, with Aziraphale warm in her lap, easy against her body.

“Forever,” Aziraphale said, and recited from memory,

_I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise,_

_Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,_

_Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,_

_Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine,_

_One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same,_

She didn't know Whitman perfectly, and jumped around a bit from verse to verse, but the words trickled down like honey on their bodies as the sun sank in the sky, and Crowley's wiry strength framed Aziraphale's body. They had made each other cry and laugh and kiss and love, and Crowley had been allowed to serve, and Aziraphale to be pampered. They would be gentle with one another tomorrow, easing back into real life. Aziraphale would run around the garden and move things and live in her body, and Crowley would rest and be pampered a little herself. Perhaps they would go out for dinner, and certainly they would share a bottle of wine, and likely a pot of tea as well. They would work more on the kitchen, and probably still bathe together, and love, love, love one another so well.

When Aziraphale ran out of poetry, they just held one another and kissed, until first the demon fell asleep, and then the angel, their bodies twined together under the summer night.

As Aziraphale blinked her eyes open, she found a rare treat – Crowley had woken first. They were flat-chested again, with fuzzy short hair, and were cradling her in their arms.

She was giggling even before she was fully awake rolling over and hugging them tightly, like it really had been a weekend since they'd last seen each other, a frankly unimaginable span of time these days.

“Morning, angel,” Crowley said, in between Aziraphale kissing their face, over and over. “Well, don't have to worry about top-drop with you,” they teased.

Aziraphale laughed and hugged them again. “I love you,” she said. “Crowley, you come up with the most wonderful games. I love you.”

“I love you too, precious,” Crowley said, stroking her hair. They laughed when Aziraphale gave them one last big, smacking kiss, right to their cheek. “Oh, angel.”

“I'm so in love,” Aziraphale said, and rubbed their fuzzy head. “You're a dream of a servant, darling. You were perfect.”

“Stop it,” Crowley moaned, closing their eyes and blushing. “I could've done more.”

“I really think you couldn't have,” Aziraphale advised.

Crowley turned redder.

“All right, I'll leave off,” Aziraphale told her cheerfully. “Just. You were wonderful. Are wonderful.”

Crowley smiled and pressed their face into Aziraphale's neck, and let themself be held until the blushes faded.

Aziraphale just cuddled them close, determined to protect her love, her best friend, her darling little sub, all the things Crowley was. She'd get them coffee and breakfast in a moment, but for right now, the best thing in the world was the body in her arms, and the being that inhabited it.

**Author's Note:**

> The poem Aziraphale reads is from Whitman's _Song of Myself_. You can watch an amazing performance of the first verse [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AGrNWA-Xn8). (All of the performances in that series are achingly beautiful.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> dietraumerei.tumblr.com


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